


Turn On

by kokuchim



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:29:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokuchim/pseuds/kokuchim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyki wonders what about a certain red-headed exorcist turns him on the most in their unabashedly secret affiliation with each other over a bottle of brandy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn On

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own D. Gray Man.
> 
> Also, I believe we need more Tyki in our lives.

Tyki wonders what about the bookman apprentice turns him on the most.

He wonders if it's that dark, sleek uniform their order commands them to don. The way it's tailored to fit their exorcists for comfort and use, black thread knitting the fabric strongly in its place. Well he could care less about the others since the only one occupying his thoughts was that red-haired usagi's uniform hugging that tight ass of his when he struts around the battlefield with his giant hammer.

' _Oh that godforsaken hammer_ ' Tyki thinks to himself.

Needless to say, thinking of that boy's innocence made him think of less than innocent thoughts about sleepless nights in not too shabby hotel rooms.

He gulps down the already forming saliva and cocks open a new bottle of brandy. He pours it on his now empty shot glass, the ice clinking together as the lukewarm liquid makes its way through the crevices. He sets the bottle back on the table as he brings the glass to his nose as he stirs it in a circular fashion with a flick of his wrist. He takes a whiff of its musky scent as he ponders on.

Was it Lavi's smile when he was trying to mask his hidden intentions?

The way his mouth quirked upward into a smirk, his devilishly handsome looks nearly choking out a gasp in all this deviousness. Was it the way he forms his sentences in that pathetic excuse of a vocal range between baritone and tenor? The way his lips open slowly, saying his name with as much fervor and desire he could muster. Eyes fluttering shamelessly.

The Noah takes a nice, long swig of the substance. He licks his lips. The bitter yet sweet sensation starting to waft over his senses. Not enough to blur reality and the pitiful excuse of an imagination yet but just _right_.

Tyki finds himself pouring another glass of brandy yet again.

Was it his voice then? The way he can squeeze those delectable moans from the young man's throat like there was no other pleasurable thing in this world. The way he took an unhealthy desire—well addiction—to his impaired lover's pants of want as they lay entangled between sheets of some dingy room God knows  _how_  they got there.

Then again, their frequent romps do leave much speculation to places.

He drinks its contents yet again. The liquid setting fire to his throat and for a moment he thinks his vision blurs, only for it to return to a set of normalcy soon after. He reckons he can hold his liquor quite well, eliciting a satisfied half-smile. Maybe those parties did have its advantages or was it his constitution?

Was it the way he looked at him with that brilliantly green eye of his then? The knowledge behind that glassy, detached iris that made his blood boil and his dark nature scoff at the teen's supposed display of practiced immaturity, a mark of his current persona. The way he could always seem to find his gaze shifting onto the black strip of felt covering his right eye. The times he unties the knots with a slight tug after a rather distracting yet heated kiss only to look intently upon the impairment that gave him a sliver of humanity to his otherwise inhuman character.

Tyki sighs as he sees that he's nearly finished another bottle of alcohol in his attempts to drown his loneliness.

The bookman  _junior_  had been sent on another mission after he had just returned from one. The latino decides to pour the remaining contents in his glass and takes a long drink. His thoughts once again wavering from coherent thought as it fell upon a certain red-haired exorcist whom he was missing terribly. Not that he'd admit to that. His pride was on the line.

Maybe, just maybe, the source of his penultimate pleasure and self-gratification was the boy's very existence as a forbidden fruit that turns him on the most. The way that he was committing a most grievous offense every time he sees Lavi and ends up bedding him for another intense bout of love-making.

They  _were_  on the opposing sides of the war and as much as he struggles to keep his mind on the task at hand those vivid fractions of the day where he plants soft kisses on red lips; nips and sucks gently at exposed flesh. Burying his face on the crook of the exorcist's neck as pearly white teeth crack into a toothy grin and bites him hard.

Tyki thinks he's taking a bite from the forbidden apple. His lover's back arches and lets out a nearly suppressed moan of pleasure.

He wonders if his search for pleasure puts a strain in his relationships, casting a thin line between duty and desire.

Want and Need.

He wonders if by indulging in these hedonistic pleasures do men of great power and lineage fall. He chuckles at the thought.

The light grows dim and he feels the night growing deeper. He holds a faint hope that a certain exorcist will come bursting through the doors, his for the taking, and his eyes soon glaze deep with want.

Tyki would nothing more than to just sink his teeth into that pale, smooth skin and devour his soul so he could possess him completely. He wonders if Lavi would miss those friends of his if he decides to rid of them. It would take care of the Earl's problems after all, killing two birds with one stone.

This thought process ends abruptly when he feels two arms wrap around his midsection as a pair of lips brush the lobe of his right ear, hot breath tickling, teasing at his already heightened sense of touch. He doesn't think anymore. He's too lost in the feeling and that burst of adrenaline when he jerks around and tackles his lover to the floor. The sound of an upturned table, a broken bottle of brandy and glass and a soft thud of two bodies pressed together echo throughout the room.

A blush creeps along the younger man's face. "Tyki what are you—" he stops mid-sentence as a pair of lips crash against his.

He doesn't know how their clothes came off anymore. Lavi vaguely remembers the touch of Tyki's burning flesh against his as he slips the remaining articles off his body. He gasps as a pair of hands clasp against his throbbing manhood.

Tyki doesn't know when he had started fucking the bookman on the floor.

He was a wild animal letting his baser needs take over. A creature driven by instinct and a twisted sense of love and lust. His lover's slim, bony hands tangle and grab a fistful of his curly locks. He prods Lavi's lips with a slow lick eliciting a small moan from the boy who all too willingly parts his lips. Soon enough it becomes a battle of dominance as their tongues intertwine and lap at each other. They pause to fixate a need of oxygen only to come crashing down unto each other yet again like they cannot be parted for long.

Maybe the fact that Lavi still comes seeking his bed at night despite the mortal and dire implications this puts them both turns him on the most.

He scoffs mentally as he feels Lavi's nails dig in his exposed flesh and claw the base of his back when he thrusts hard inside him. He bites back a moan. His eyes glaze with lust. The exorcist does too and they move together in harmony, each giving way to the other's desires. Tyki could feel his knees burning from the carpet and wonders how Lavi must feel. He stops for a moment to gaze upon his lovers face.

His mouth is agape, panting hard and pulls his face near him for another deep kiss.

Tyki decides that he'll worry about the carpet burn later.

Besides he was the kind of lover that gets more into it when his lover's pleasure reaches its climax. Why deny his little bunny several bouts of mind blowing sex when it made them both happy? He was never much for rules, He was a bookman on top of being an exorcist and he a noah for God's sakes.

For all he cared the world could just fuck themselves off.

Tyki comes not long after him, riding out the last vestiges of his release before flopping down beside him on the floor. Lavi cuddles closer and he relents an embrace.

They stay silent for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow, their breathing slowly returning to normal, heartbeats in sync.

"You know" Lavi whispers, his eyes locked onto Tyki's.

"As much as I love being fucked hard, the floor wasn't really that comfortable. " He says honestly, "I swear I'm going to get carpet burn" He adds as an afterthought.

Tyki chuckles and he finds himself preoccupied with the falling strips of wallpaper hanging down from the ceiling and a rather wet liquid that must have been the spilt brandy prodding his side.

A tan hand gently snakes its way back on Lavi's hips and a tongue slips out between two full lips to lick his lover's clavicle slowly. The Pleasure making sure to leave trails of kisses down to his navel and he feels Lavi's hands grip his hair yet again until he stops abruptly soliciting a disgruntled moan from the bookman junior.

He leans close to his lover's ear, long dark locks sticking to his face as he he opens his mouth to breathe into the red-haired teen's ear sending a sharp, cold shiver down his body.

"I guess I'll need to fix that" he whispers seductively in that deep velvet voice of his. The bookman shudders and he can feel himself getting hard again. Two strong arms loping around his neck with a light hum of appreciation.

Well Tyki never said there wasn't going to be a round two.


End file.
